


Mirror

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-30
Updated: 2000-01-30
Packaged: 2018-11-11 00:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    Disclaimer: Alliance owns Benton Fraser, Ray Vecchio and Ray Kowalski
    
    I apologize for this.
    
    Mirror
    by
    Rae
    *********
    
    He saves the broken glass. All the small pieces. The ones with sharpest
    corners and the most jagged edges. The ones that break skin so easily.
    All he needs to do is drag it across the soft flesh of his wrist and
    a wound opens. It takes a moment for the blood to rise. Tiny red drops
    on the surface of his skin. Sometimes he cuts so deep that it trickles
    down, just a tiny bit, before it clots. Never deep enough to kill. Never
    that deep. He has thought about it, and he has tried. The truth, is that
    he is a coward. He can't seem to muster the strength to do it. So he
    just wounds himself, watches the blood rise and clot. Watches the wounds
    close and heal. But the scars are there, ever a reminder. A reminder
    of every mistake and every tortured moment in his wasted life.  Now he
    sits back against the wall and pulls up the sleeve of his red coat. Not
    far, just enough to expose his wrist. The old scars are there. One. Two.
    Three. Four. From the last time. The night after the Beth Botrelle incident.
    Ray's pain was not his own, and that was unbearable. Unacceptable. So
    he had found a way to share the suffering. Beneath those, a lighter shade
    are the ones that he inflicted after the Ray Vecchio left.   He brings
    the glass to the edge of his wrist. He takes a breath and pulls it across
    the skin. Pain. He grits his teeth, willing himself to maintain composure.
    He doesn't cry out, doesn't whimper. The blood begins to dry and darken,
    so the cut now appears like a black line running across his wrist. Near
    the end, the skin is swollen, but not broken. This displeases him. He
    brings the glass up again, adjusting his grip around it, so the sharp
    edge is pressing into the already sore flesh. The next cut is so quick
    , that when he opens his eyes again, the blood is already beginning to
    drip down. He clamps a towel over the wound, but not before a single
    drop strikes the carpet. He watches as it is slowly absorbed.  How many
    times has Ray complained about his self-control and his composure? He
    wonders if his blond partner would complain so much if he knew the price.
    Perhaps Ray would complain ever more. Perhaps he would be horrified,
    or even disgusted. But Ray can't understand. This practice he started
    as a teenager helps him. It punishes him for his mistakes, but it also
    teaches him. It teaches him control. It teaches him to tolerate the things
    he can not change. Pain is the best teacher.  
       In the beginning, he cried, but now he takes it without a sound. Only
    a tightening of his jaw. Sometimes he grits his teeth. Eventually, he
    won't do that either. Eventually, he will have total control. He wonders
    now what Ray would say if he could see him like this. Sitting on the
    floor with a dish towel clamped over a self-inflicted wound on his left
    wrist. He chuckles to himself at the thought. What would Ray say if he
    could see him now? *What the hell are you thinking, Fraser?* Ray can't
    understand how much he needs this. He could loose himself in drink, or
    in drugs. But what would be the purpose? Pain is awareness. It is consciousness
    on a new level. Pain does not dull the senses, it sharpens them. Ultimately,
    pain is life.  He draws in a breath and climbs to his feet. He goes into
    the bathroom and takes the towel off his wrist. He lets his hand run
    beneath under the cold tap water, carefully cleaning his wounds with
    antibacterial soap. Then he dries his hands, adjusts his uniform and
    prepares to face the day. 
    
    End
    
    


End file.
